It Doesnt Do To Dwell On Dreams
by kc creation
Summary: For ten years Kyo has tried to remember the ox, and still hopes that he'll someday return home. kyoxharu, oneshot


**It Doesn't Do To Dwell On Dreams**

He tugged awkwardly at the collar of the old jacket.

It was too tight.

Maybe it had shrunken over the years? Or maybe, just maybe, he'd grown ever so slowly?

Whatever the reason, the leather was tight on his wrists, and the neck was beginning to choke him. He wondered if it was still wearable, or if the moment he bent his arms, or even turned his head, would it rip?

It used to be black. Or at least, it was such a dark brown that it _looked_ black. He preferred to remember it as the former, the same color as its owner's charcoal hair; but now, after so many years, it seemed that maybe it _was_ brown, since the color had faded to a light auburn.

There were also small tears and creases that he hadn't remembered seeing ten years prior, when the he'd first tired of looking at the old thing, and stuffed it away in a shoebox, that he had then hidden in the depths beneath his bed.

It had always been an ugly jacket, and time hadn't done anything for it.

_An ugly dark-brownish-black leather jacket,_ decorated with an assortment of buckles that served no purpose but to make it look more ridiculous than it had to. It was heavy, and a decade ago, the sleeves fell a good five inches passed his fingertips, the bottom comming to rest somewhere around his thighs.

But like most of the other man's clothes, he'd grown into it; and soon, the shirts he loved to sleep in, and the jacket he tried his best not to look at had become too small to fit, and he was forced to try and remember what the fabric felt like against his skin.

Because really, it was the only way to remember his lover's touch, and the kisses that had long since began to fade from his memory.

One could ask, why today? Why had he pulled the dusty box from under his bed today, of all days? It wasn't the younger man's birthday, or even the anniversary of his death.

But this day, it really was important. It may have been the most worthy of all to pull out the shoebox, and linger on the memories it held.

Today, June 10th, was this very day, ten years ago, that Kyo Sohma spoke the last words he would ever speak to the love of his life, before the bastard went off and got himself killed.

_"Now don't be stupid." He'd laughed, adjusting the tie that lay across his lover's chest. "I don't want a vegetable for a boyfriend."_

The ox had just chuckled, promising that he wouldn't drink and drive, and that a thick helmet would always be on his head when he drove the motorcycle he knew his kitten hated so much.

_"And this is just your senior fieldtrip, so don't act like it's the last time you'll ever be able to have fun." He paused, running his fingers slowly doen the taller boy's chest, eyes glinting with a seductive glow. "We'll have enough time for fun when you get home."_

And then he left.

Well, _stumbled_ to the plane, trying desperately to hide the massive erection his boyfriend had just plegged him with.

Kyo scratched his fingernails over the fabric, noting with pleasure the vague memories, when he had ran his fingers over the coat years ago, when it still belonged to the dumb ox. The rotting smell really didn't bother him, but he realized that he might need to have something done with it, lest he be left with no remnants of the boy besides a pile of shirts that no longer smelled of him, and a rotting ball that was once known as Hatsuharu Sohma's favorite leather jacket.

The cat idly wondered why he hadn't brought it along on his trip, but soon remembered that the ox mentioned it shortly before he left for the mountains, the usual trip seniors took over their last summer before college.

_"There's no room to pack the damn thing." _He had said with with a playful smile._ "And besides, I know how much you like it, so I'll let you enjoy its company for a few days."_

Only three days into the week that Haru had planned to stay with his peers in that old cabin in the mountains, the phone rang in Kyo's apartment, but the cat had been out, and a message was left on the answering machine for him to call back as soon as possible.

Twenty minutes later, the news was broken that eighteen year old Haru Sohma, and three other students, had been killed in a terrible accident, when the driver lost control of her car, and flew down the side of the mountain, smashing into the cars below.

A car that held Kyo's completely sober boyfriend, who had even remembered to buckle his seat belt.

Haru's parent's didn't offer Kyo any of their son's belongings, but didn't ask for anything from the couple's apartment either. The two had never really liked the cat, but he figured that may have been because he'd turned their son gay, rather than the fact that he was the cat of the zodiac.

They didn't have enough time to waste on their _own_ son's curse, let alone the curse of his lover.

Kyo slipped his hands into the tight pockets, feeling around to see just how far the holes went. His fingers ran over something thin and rough, that caused him to jump slightly in surprise. He pulled it from the tightness of the jacket, noticing how knarled it was from the years it must have spent in such a cramped space.

His hands shook as he opened it, reading the five words that he'd longed to hear for so, _so_ long that he couldn't even stand it.

_'Kyo,_

_I love you._

_-Haru'_

But seeing them written in that sloppy handwriting of his beloved was just as good.

He folded the paper, barely able the see the edges through the blur of tears in his eyes. Stuffing it back where it had come from, he unzipped the tight leather, breathing a sigh of relief as he was finally _able_ to breathe again.

He pulled the sleeves carefully from his arms, then folded it, placing it within the dusty shoebox that he soon pushed beneath the kingsized bed he'd once shared with a certain bipolar lover of his.

He stood, legs weak and throat tight, and climbed upon the worn mattress.

_'I love you.' _The younger man had wrote, knowing his kitten couldn't help but mess with his things while he as gone. He knew that the lonliness would get the best of him, and he would put the nasty thing on countless times until its owner _finally_ returned home.

And Kyo did just that.

For ten years he'd sauntered into the his room, sneaking a hand under the dirty confines of the bed for an old shoebox that held nothing but an even older jacket, and waning memories that still couldn't quite disappear.

For ten years he searched inside the pockets for the now yellowed note, scanning over its five words -fifteen letters- just to shove it out of his sight a while later, and pretend he'd never seen it.

Ten years, he would lay on their bed and imagine the ox was home, for just awhile.

_It had been ten years._

But it _still_ made him cry.

---

I have a _letters_ fettish, I just realized.

In almost every fiction I write, someone writes someone a letter.

Goddammit, why can't I ever be origional?


End file.
